Helpful Hallucinations
by Aspiesaurus
Summary: This was wrong, and he knew it. He should've told the others a long time ago about this. Yet, he kept it a secret. He keeps it a secret because, dammit, for once someone is worrying over him for his sake and not for the world's.


It hurt like hell, even though he knew something like it was coming. In hindsight he shouldn't have even expected his frustrations to be taken into thoughtful consideration by his father. William had never had the patience for his grievances in the past, even with what was at stake back then. Of course the world ending wouldn't make a difference.

As Desmond regained his footing, his head still reeling from the punch, he became aware of an all-too familiar feeling washing over him. Anxiety wormed its way through every inch of his body, coiling like a spring that refused to release in his limbs and scraping against his insides. He feels hollow and raw, but he managed to fully pick himself up from the floor and mutter a few reassurances to Rebecca and Shaun before stumbling away. He retreats into the innermost chambers of the Temple with cautious urgency and tucks himself away from sight in one of the higher alcoves.

This had been happening more and more lately, ever since Lucy's death, and Desmond's almost too tired to feel pathetic about it at this point. He would never go to William about it; it'd just be one more disappointment between them. Shaun and Rebecca had both become to closer to him, and he had learned to read in between the lines when it came to Shaun's sarcasm, but he couldn't tell them either. He had just fully gained their trust, and no one would trust a supposed savior who couldn't control his own emotions.

A light blue hue tinged the inside of his eyelids and Desmond smiles despite himself. When he opens his eyes, an illuminated figure stands where there was once empty space, the soft light emanating from them gliding smoothly across the walls of the cave as it softly padded toward him.

Connor's figure solidifies just in time for their foreheads to bump together softly, and Desmond focuses all of his concentration on the feeling of Connor's breath ghosting over his skin and the rough texture of his gloves and fingers as they gripped his own.

The first time this had happened it had only made his panic worse, but after so many attacks with only Connor there to soothe him it had become a source of relief.

Desmond recalled the first time he learned what these episodes really were. It took only a few times in the Animus as Connor to realize that something about him was different from his other ancestors. Despite his claims to the contrary, Altair did feel fear. It was not a foreign sentiment to Ezio either, who tended to be more open with his emotions in general. Yet for both of them, fear was not a normal component when it came to social interaction. For Connor, however, it couldn't happen without it. The fear was sometimes so intense that Connor resorted to biting his own hands in an attempt to lessen the crippling discomfort. It only got worse the more Connor had to interact with the colonists, and the cycle might have continued indefinitely if Achilles had not spotted the bite marks by chance one morning. For once Desmond's surprise was just as genuine as Connor's as he realized that he had been experiencing the same thing.

Achilles's help did not end the panic attacks, sadly, but from then on Connor had a coping mechanism at the very least. Whispering words of encouragement to himself and fiddling constantly with his hands, the odd looks he got from passing colonials were well worth the reprieve it brought.

So the next time Desmond experienced a panic attack he tried the same methods Achilles patiently taught to Connor. What he did not expect was for Connor to show up out of the blue to help.

A few weeks later he was definitely whistling a different tune, especially now as one of Connor's hands let go of his and moved to rub gentle circles on his back.

This was wrong, and he knew it. He should've told the others a long time ago about this, that he was still hallucinating, that his hallucinations could touch him, that his hallucinations were comforting him. Yet, he kept it a secret. He keeps it a secret because, dammit, for once someone is worrying over him for his sake and not for the world's.

"I know your suffering."

Always soft and laced with subtle emotion, Connor's voice is fragmented and stilted, like a recording trying to catch up with itself while skipping. But the sentiment still comes through. Desmond feels the pinpricks of tears begin to crowd into his eyes and he burrows his face into Connor's shoulder. He wishes more than anything that this wasn't just his own mind's feeble attempt to comfort him while his sanity crumbled. He wants the warmth to be real. He wants the hushed whispers to be real. He wants Connor to be real

"Just breathe, brother."

Desmond complied, nestling further into the crook of Connor's shoulder and pressing an accidental kiss on his neck. He can already feel his nerves unwinding, his body going limp with fatigued relief and Connor finally wraps him in a full embrace to keep him from falling.

"I am proud of you."

He supposes that in the end, it doesn't matter. No matter what happens, if he survives or dies, he will probably have to live with the consequences for the rest of his life.

At least fate was kind enough to give him this.


End file.
